


Thirteen Hours

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU - Non-SHIELD, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9127594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Fitz is at the airport, waiting to head home to Glasgow for the holidays after a nanotech conference. Then he hears about the storm heading for Boston, where Jemma is spending the holidays all on her own.Thanks to a couple of nice strangers at the rental car counter, Jemma won't have to wait out the storm alone. Not if her best friend has anything to say about it.He gets a much warmer welcome than he ever expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for accio-the-force for The FitzSimmons Network's Secret Santa 2016. 
> 
> I really, really hope you enjoy! This didn't turn out quite the way I anticipated, but I hope you like it anyway :)

“Are you okay?” Fitz asks worriedly over the phone. “The news said it was going to be really bad out there—“

 

Jemma laughs lightly, but it’s a poor disguise for the anxiety she’s feeling. “Really, Fitz, I’m alright. You’re going to miss your plane if you keep carrying on like this.”

 

Fitz chews on his lip, pacing in front of the security line, considering his options. Sure, he hasn’t seen his mother in over a year, and she’ll kill him if he doesn’t make his flight.

 

But, Jemma is his best friend in the world. She’s sitting in her apartment in Massachusetts and he’s in bloody North Carolina. He’s leaving directly from a nanotech engineering conference.

 

And Jemma is all by herself, where a massive storm is coming. She’s always hated storms. It’s Christmas Eve, and she’ll be all alone, and—

 

Sod it, he thinks. His mother can kill him, that’s fine, but he simply can’t leave Jemma all alone in her apartment during a storm.

 

What if her electricity goes out? She’s helpless at fixing it herself. Don’t even get him started on the radiator. She’ll freeze to death without his help.

 

“Fitz?” Jemma asks cautiously. “Are you still there?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Fitz says. “You’re a horrible liar, Simmons.”

 

She huffs. “I am not a horrible liar. I really am going to be just fine, it’s only a storm, it’s not as though I’ve never experienced one before.”

 

He hauls his duffel bag onto his shoulder and picks up his pace, making his way toward the signs that say “Rental Cars.” There’s no way he’ll be able to get a flight this late in the game, especially with most flights to the New England grounded as it is.

 

He can, however, get in a rental car and drive all the way up to Boston. It’s what anyone would do for their best friend, of course.

 

And it’s got absolutely nothing to do with how nice she smells, or how much he’s missed her while he’s been away at this conference. It certainly has nothing to do with the way he feels when he holds her.

 

She’s his best friend. That’s it. Nothing more to it.

 

The line for rental cars is ridiculously long, so he heaves a sigh and drops his duffle bag on the ground.

 

“Fitz,” Jemma snaps, sounding quite annoyed. “Are you even listening to me?”

 

“Huh? Yeah, I am.”

 

“You flight is boarding in twenty minutes! You need to get off of the phone, use the restroom, get your snacks—“

 

“Jemma,” he says firmly. “For what feels like the hundredth time, I feel like I should remind you that you’re not my mother.”

 

“Of course I’m not—“

 

“Will it make you feel better if I hang up the phone?” he asks. A little smile tugs at the corners of his lips despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. Even at her most annoying, he can’t help but find her—well, quite cute.

 

“Yes,” she admits meekly.

 

He laughs warmly, rolling his eyes to the airport ceiling. He contemplates telling her that he’ll see her soon—it should only be about thirteen hours, give or take, if he makes good enough time—but he knows that she’ll do everything she can to stop him.

 

“I’ll talk to you when I land, Jemma.”

 

“Fly safe!”

 

“I will. Talk to you later.”

 

He hangs up the phone and slips it into his pocket. The man in front of him turns around with a warm smile.

 

“Where are you headed?”

 

“Boston,” Fitz answers. The man winces, nodding at a nearby TV screen.

 

“It’s gonna be rough up there.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m trying to get to someone—“

 

“Ah,” the man says sympathetically. “Girlfriend?”

 

Fitz splutters, scratching behind one ear. “No! Nope. No, definitely—definitely not my girlfriend. My best friend, Jemma.”

 

“Ha! I’ve been there.”

 

Fitz frowns. “How do you mean?”

 

The man nods toward a beautiful woman, sitting on a nearby chair, reading a book. “That’s my wife, Melinda. We were best friends for about twenty years before I finally opened my eyes.”

 

Fitz gulps nervously, shifting back and forth on his feet. “Ah. Well, I don’t—it’s not like that with me and Jemma.”

 

Melinda’s husband doesn’t look convinced, giving Fitz a little smile as he turns back around. “Ah, well. Who knows.”

 

Fitz sort of wants to keep arguing with this stranger, but his general distaste for conversation with people he doesn’t know holds him back. Even still, he has loads of questions.

 

How did this man figure out that he wanted to be with Melinda? After twenty years of just being her friend? How does that even happen? How do you know if you love someone like a friend or if it might be…well, more than that?

 

These questions torture him for the remainder of the lengthy wait until he’s finally called up to the counter. He walks up eagerly, fishing in his back pocket for his wallet.

 

“Is it possible to do a one-way rental?” he asks with a grimace. “I can return it at the Boston airport?”

 

The woman behind the counter frowns. “We don’t ordinarily allow for that—“

 

“Please,” Fitz practically begs, leaning on the counter. “I’m supposed to be on a plane to Scotland right now but my best friend needs me. I can’t leave her alone.”

 

Her face melts. “That’s really…romantic. Look, I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Her nametag reads “Bobbi”, and Fitz beams at her. “Thank you so much, Bobbi. I really appreciate it.”

 

She disappears into the little office behind the counter, popping back out nearly five minutes later. She dangles a set of keys excitedly. “Alright, speed racer. I’ve got a Ford Escape that you can take to Boston.”

 

“I can’t thank you enough,” he rambles. “Seriously, thank you. I hope you have the best Christmas in history—“

 

She laughs goodnaturedly, sliding the rental agreement his way. “You’re very welcome. Just sign this and you can hit the road. It’s the black one in the parking lot, space 12.”

 

Fitz makes quick work of the forms, thanking her one or two—maybe four—more times, before dashing into the lot. He’ll call his mum on the way there and apologize as many times as it takes until she forgives him.

 

He’s got about thirteen hours. That should get him—well, about halfway to his mother’s forgiveness.

 

***

 

His mother had been surprisingly graceful about the entire thing, once he explained about last time there was a storm and Jemma’s lights had gone out. She’d called him near tears, pretending like she wasn’t scared. It had broken his heart and he’d made his way across the pitch black city to fix it for her.

 

That’s what they do, though. They fix things. Together.

 

The drive crawls by, alone in a car with only his music as company. It sends him into a bit of an introspective tailspin.

 

He can’t stop thinking about the stranger in the rental car line. Has he just been closing his eyes this whole time? Has he been willfully ignoring the fact that Jemma Simmons is—well—quite possibly _the one_ for him?

 

Who else could finish his sentences like she does? Who else can complement his every quirk like she does? Who could possibly be as smart and witty and awkward and sweet as she is?

 

Ah _, hell._

 

It occupies his every thought the whole way to Massachusetts. He thinks about when they first met—two sixteen year olds, far from home, going to college with people much older than them. Getting their PhDs, working in their lab, creating remarkable things.

 

Cooking together, watching Who, sipping on tea on cold morning walks through the park on their way to work.

 

There hasn’t been a single moment where she wasn’t by his side. There’s no one else he would want to share all of it with, either. He’s dated a little bit, and so has she, but—no one had ever come close to being as important to him as Jemma is.

 

His drive slows down as he reaches New England, the snow forcing him to drive much more slowly than he had been before. He taps at the steering wheel impatiently, just wanting to be at her apartment.

 

When he finally pulls up, his heart is in his throat and he slings his duffel over his shoulder with shaking hands. It’s dark now, and there’s no lights on in her whole building. He jogs up the snow-covered steps and punches in the code to get into her building.

 

But the beep never comes.

 

“Shit,” he curses, dropping his duffle and unzipping it. He’s going to have to pick the lock somehow. Surely, out of everything in his bag, there’s got to be something.

 

His hand closes around a hair pin he’d bought for his cousin. Well, Jemma had picked it out, technically, and he feels a little bit guilty for snapping the barrette to use as a tool.

 

He’ll get her a new one. She’s thirteen, she probably doesn’t even really know who he is anyhow.

 

He kneels down and makes quick work of the lock, grinning as it pops open and allows him entry into her building.

 

Then he frowns. This building is not as secure as it should be. He’s going to have to take that up with Jemma’s landlord.

 

He takes the stares to the fourth floor, taking a couple of breaks to catch his breath along the way. When he finally reaches her door, he’s exhausted. Between the thirteen hours in the car, the last several days of conference lectures, breaking into her building, and climbing four flights of stairs—well, he’s beat.

 

He’s too lazy to get her key out of his bag, instead opting for a good old-fashioned knock. He taps out their trademark little rhythm. He hears her shuffling around inside and can’t help but smile.

 

She swings open the door with a weary expression on her face, holding a giant flashlight like a weapon. She drops it immediately when she flashes it into his face.

 

“Fitz?” she gasps.

 

“Hey,” he says awkwardly.

 

“You’re supposed to be—“

 

“In Scotland, I know,” he says, shifting back and forth on his feet. “But I couldn’t let you be alone, not if this storm is going to get as bad as they say, and—“

 

She throws herself at him, her arms locking around his neck and sending him stumbling back a few steps. She’s warm and soft, all bundled up in an old hoodie of his and some giant sweatpants. His arms wrap around her waist and he feels her exhale shakily against his neck.

 

“I can’t believe you did this,” she whispers.

 

“I couldn’t leave you on your own.”

 

She pulls back and grabs his hand, tugging him inside. “Well come in then, it’s freezing out in the hall. My radiator is still working, since it’s gas, but all the lights are out.”

 

“I’ll get that fixed up in no time,” he assures her. He freezes in her living room, looking around at all the lit candles. “Wow. You’ve made it quite festive in here.”

 

She smiles. “Does it? It’s more out of necessity than for any sort of aesthetic.”

 

He drags his bag to the corner of the room and toes off his shoes. He hears her laugh suddenly behind him, a bubbly little giggle that sends him whirling around.

 

“What?” he asks, amused. Her hands on pressed to her cheeks, her eyes shiny in the dim light.

 

“I just—I can’t believe you came all this way for me. It must have taken ages to get on a flight—“

 

“It didn’t,” he interrupts with a shrug. “I drove, actually.”

 

Her jaw drops. “You—you drove? From North Carolina?”

 

“Yeah,” he says easily. “It was the quickest way—“

 

“That’s it,” she says under her breath. His brow furrows.

 

“Huh?”

 

Then she’s striding toward him, her hand in the back of his hair as she presses her lips to his. He gasps into her mouth, half surprise and half from the absolute freezing sensation of her other hand sliding down his neck.

 

It takes a long while before he has any interest in pulling away from her, but eventually it feels necessary.

 

“Wow,” he murmurs, brushing her hair out of her face.

 

“Yes,” Jemma laughs lowly. “Wow. That was…something.”

 

“Well sure,” he grins. “That and your hands are bloody _freezing_.”

 

Her eyes widen as she laughs again, loudly and happily. She jerks her head toward her bedroom.

 

“Sorry,” she says, not looking very sorry at all. Her hands slide down his sides, toying with the hem of his sweater. “Do you think you can brave it?”

 

He gulps and nods eagerly, tangling their fingers together. “Yes. Absolutely. Yes.”

 

She leads the way to her room, and he gladly follows. He’s sure they have plenty to talk about, but for now—he’s just glad to be spending Christmas Eve with the most important person in his life.

 

The storm keeps raging outside, but as they slip beneath her sheets, Fitz hardly even notices. Maybe someday he’ll run into that man from the North Carolina airport again.

 

Fitz would love to tell him that it only took ten years to open his eyes.


End file.
